I am the spawn of an unused condom
on a bedside table and a brief
disregard for outcome.
I would not call it love. No.
And there it is — I am — convulsed
into some cold gloved hands
and thence pampered, molded
and slow mouldering — kneaded
as dough — risen as a loaf
of will and long odds.
And what greater gift is breath,
to be turned, again and ever
into a wind that fists its way
into my lungs, pierces my tongue,
explodes my spine, that behind,
in the still absent eddy, where
Could-have-been resides,
There is nothing, nothing
but prints and the various bits:
regret, dissonance and the sure brine
of having not run that way.
Image: Tim Mossholder on Unsplash
Sweet and Bitter Greens 
This is fantastic! I love your philosophical approach on the matter of being. Superb! Kudos Devon 🎈
Mae
Thank you, Mae. I was feeling a bit salty about “purpose and meaning” if you know what I mean.
D
I think I do… I am always feeling salty about purpose and meaning! This was beautiful! Love your work as always!
Mae
Thanks, Mae. I am still trying to get caught up your stuff. Am quite taken with “Thinks that sound the same” series. And there is so much more to read.
D
Devon, your work is concisely sharp and cutting- down to the bare bones of the soul.
Thanks much, Lance. I got a little miffed about “purpose, destiny, free will, meaninglessness, etc.” and this just sort of spilled out. LOL.
D
A very sincere pleasure, Devon. It all worked out quiet nicely!
Thanks, Lance.
D
You’re quite welcome, Devon.